


Ghosts of Past Pain

by HissHex



Series: PeterMartin Week 2020 [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: :), Funeral, Handholding, M/M, once again I mention my "Simon is Peter's funky uncle" agenda, vague mentions of the lukas's just being awful to their kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HissHex/pseuds/HissHex
Summary: Day 2 of PeterMartin Week - Home & MelancholiaPeter has a funeral to go to, and he doesn't want to go to Moorland House by himself so he drags martin along for the ride
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Series: PeterMartin Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007181
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Ghosts of Past Pain

Martin had awoken to a text from Peter and a parcel on this doorstep.

Stumbling through his morning routine, Martin flicked open the message while he waited for the kettle to boil.

_Head Idiot_ _(Lukas)_

_Sent at 05:10  
Hello Martin! I have an urgent meeting today and I would like you to come with me. _

_I have ordered you something so that you don’t stand out too much._

_Please be ready and at the institute for 6._

_Thanks_

_Peter_

It did not matter how many times Martin told Peter than he didn’t need to sign his name at the bottom of his texts, the older man still did it.

Martin groaned at the time though, he would have to rush to get there in time. Well there goes his relaxed morning.

He almost forgot the package, until he was almost out the door. He tucked the parcel under his arm and ran down to the underground station that would take him most of the way to the Institute.

He ended up arriving a little early and sat down on the front steps of the building. Using the sharp edge of his keys, Martin cut the tape securing the box closed.

Inside was a coat, long and black. It looked a little like Peter’s, though this one seemed to cut off a little higher, at the knees rather than all the way down to the ankles like Peter’s did.

He did have a coat of his own. A ratty second hand one he had bought with his first pay check from the Institute. It’d had ripped stitches when he bought it and the past few years of use hadn’t helped matters. He shrugged it off and slipped on the one that Peter had bought him.

It felt expensive.

Knowing the amount of money that Peter was willing to throw around on a single lunch meeting, it probably was more expensive than anything Martin had ever seen.

It was warm and soft and somehow it still didn’t block out the chill of Peter’s arrival.

“You didn’t need to go to the trouble Peter. My own coat was fine.”

“Maybe. You deserve to have something nice every so often Martin.”

Martin did not know who exactly Peter was trying to fool here.

“And also, we are going to Moorland House and my family will eat you alive if you go in wearing something that cheap. This way they know you’re with me.”

As far as reasons go, this was a pretty good one. Peter was actually thinking something through. Martin was, however, a little nervous at that.

“Why? Um, yeah, why are we going there?”

“Funeral. An uncle I think, I don’t actually know” Peter still sounded unnervingly cheery as he said this.

“Let me re-phrase that Peter. Why am _I_ going?”

Peter didn’t answer, just shuffled Martin into a chauffeured car that just pulled up.

It wasn’t until they were about half-an-hour out of London that he finally answered. He wasn’t looking at Martin, preferring to stare out the window at the passing countryside.

“I haven’t been back in quite some time. They aren’t pleased with me, never have been really. Didn’t want to go by myself. And it will do you good, I think. You’ve been to the Institute, you know what a temple of the Eye feels like, but you haven’t felt anything like Moorland.”

Martin was sure that last bit had been tacked on to make Peter feel less self-conscious.

“You’ve sent me to the lonely Peter, surely it couldn’t be any more than that?” Peter hummed in agreement.

“Well yes, but that’s mine. If I entered the lonely and a cousin entered as well, even if we were in the same space we wouldn’t see each other. The lonely you have experienced is effected by me. Moorland is more, well… its the lonely of every generation of Lukas, its more of a mix so no one person effects it. You’ll see when we get there.”

“Wait. So the beach, that’s not standard? That’s just your version of the lonely?”

“Exactly! I have a cousin who’s domain is a long stretch of road at night, and I think one of my nieces had started to be able to manifest a library.”

“A library? That’s a bit Beholding isn’t it?”

“And a night-time road isn’t of the Dark? That my beach couldn’t be considered Vast? The lines aren’t as clean as you might want to think.”

Martin thought back to the eccentric old man he had met the other day. The one who seemed so fond of Peter.

“Simon Fairchild must be pleased with that?” Peter was still looking out the window and must have forgotten that Martin could see his face in the reflection of the glass as he smiled, his eyes showing actual fondness for once, rather than his usual fake cheer and dead-eyed cheer.

“Huh, yeah he is.”

Martin did not know how he felt about Peter having anything close to normal human emotions and so wrote himself a little mental not and put it on his mental back-burner.

That seemed to be enough interaction for Peter and he shut up for the rest of the journey no matter how much Martin attempted to start conversation.

It wasn’t even mid-day by the time they rolled up the driveway of Moorland House. The crunch of the tires on gravel was the only sound around, breaking the unnatural silence.

Martin could see movement in the graveyard and as he stepped out of the car he expected to be lead over there. Instead Peter pulled him by the elbow into the old house.

“We are actually a bit early, don’t want to get in the way of the preparations. Come on, everyone who is already hear will be out in the graveyard or milling about the gardens. We should be left alone in here.”

The house was cold and quiet and heavy in a way Martin had never really experienced. The weight of history and family expectations and generation upon generation of deeply unhappy families. It was a weight that appeared to be affecting Peter quite badly. Martin watched as Peter’s feigned cheer struggled and eventually dropped entirely as Peter lead him around.

“So which was your room?” martin asked as he ran his fingers over the carved wood of the stari banister.

“Oh we didn’t do that. I didn’t understand the concept of having a single unchanging room until I stayed the weekend at Simon’s once. Every year we would all switch bedrooms. Stopped us getting attached I guess. I remember fighting with one of my sister’s to get my younger brother’s room one year. It had a great view over the gardens.” Martin’s brow furrowed as he looked at Peter with curiosity. The older man looked somehow even paler than usual, his cold stare slipping into a deeply uncomfortable and sad look.

“you have siblings? Will they be here?” martin felt like he knew what the answer would be.

“Ha. No, not anymore. Don’t know where the older two vanished off to, the same way as Evan I suppose, tried to leave and fed the Forsaken all the more for it. The younger two were taken away when I was young, I like to think they were given away to some distant family member, though sometimes I doubt it”

They eventually came back to the front door and Peter sat down on the cold stone steps. Martin could feel the cold fog of the Lonely start to gather stronger and thicker around Peter. Martin hadn’t considered that Peter didn’t like it here, that his childhood home was nothing more that a museum of bad memories. He looked around to see if they were being watched and then slipped his hand into the same pocket that Peter had shoved one of his, entwining their fingers. Peter looked at him sharply. Martin shushed him quietly.

“Just for now Peter, they don’t need to know. I’m glad you brought me here, it’s beautiful, even if it makes you so sad.” Peter gave his hand a squeeze.

“Thank you Martin. I don’t like coming back here, but I am glad to share this with you.” His melancholic look brightened for a moment.  
“Once this whole charade is over, I’ll show you some of the grounds. That is where I spent most of my days. I think you will like it, it is very peaceful,” he gave Martin a conspiring nudge, “the sort of place poets go to for inspiration.” Martin flushed at the reminder of his poetry. Before he could retort, he felt Peter quickly remove his hand and walk over to an older man who was walking up to them.

Martin couldn’t hear their conversation but he caught the occasional glance over to him from the stranger. Peter came back and, with a hand on the middle of his back, guided him over to the graveyard.

Martin didn’t know why exactly Peter needed the comfort of his company.

But as he looked into the cold stares of the Lukas family, those who made Peter look like a warm and welcoming individual, he squared his shoulders and stood by his side.

He took a deep breath and staring boldly at a man who was glaring at him, he linked his arm with Peter’s. Peter looked shocked but didn’t pull away.

So close to Peter, even surrounded by people who probably hated him, he had never felt safer


End file.
